She said, “Sir, hast thou seen the sweven that I have seen?” – The Golden Legend

ENRAPTURED DREAMS THAT WE LONG FOR

The colours of our treasures spark feelings of gratitude and kindness on the fingertips when the sunrise ignites – the resurrection of being the light of God’s creativity. The magnetic force of being alive, being a miracle, and the undeniable spiritual energy of a unique awakening, picking the needle of spangled dreams, with the loop of crushed stars falling into the galaxies of embellished love and twinkling magic. It felt like heaven as the frost-laced blessings in the form of the first fallen snowflake of December drop onto our palms. Instantly, moments reflect in mind, the ones that are impossible to deny. Devoted and divided between desire and duties, picking the silken soft thread with pulses of overwhelming emotions, cherishing the family times remembered, recalling the love and forgotten promises which once meant the world, that would seam those unspoken dreams. Nights of being tangled up in white linen, and feeling the soft, frozen nip of the air allows the imagination to take mental notes that could be used to embroider sweet thoughts.

Jane Austen drops the motifs of acknowledged persuasion in Northanger Abbey: “The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” For some, it’s just poetry on paper. Let’s weave soothing, sweet memories to welcome back dreams and imaginations of the hearts like firestones striking love, light, and forever longing for forbidden belongings. Wishing to hyperbole all that was cherished and felt so deep-within with the loved ones, living life to the fullest, how rare it seemed back then – creating a lifetime of memories, and wishing to be present every time the night opened that little window of fantasy.

Sweven of sweet slumber and bringing back melodies of the time passed and a bit of all that was created, designed, and woven seamlessly inside the essence of the most beautiful season this time. December brings the best of the whole year that has passed by – what was lived, how it was dreamt, where it was felt the most, and why holding on to things has been embraced so very deeply within universes. Even through all the crises battled during all these months, there are threads of gratitude dipped in the colours of autumn, flowers in circles of sacred patterns of nature, drifting manifested leaves of conclusions. The mind needles together tedious beads of blurred edges into the poetry of December’s dazzle.

THE DREAM OF A UTOPIAN HEREAFTER

There comes a time when one falters and takes a deep breath, wondering which path to tread on. Towards the bread-earning recourse with corporate giants to build occupational territories, striving higher for massive métier-waves? Or, towards supporting philanthropists who are devoting a generation to serve the weaker and help uplift the surviving? Joining the happy souls, being in a trance of living in the moment, appreciating what remains and abandoning what is left behind; or perhaps pledging time to make a genuine difference in choosing the leaders who will be the ideals for harvesting a better future with equal rights and equal values. The end of this year brings forth all that which was stowed in the corners of the human mind for choosing something more meaningful from the very life lived. This is needed to take charge of each existence. You can’t deny the change anymore, can’t refuse to address the reality, and you certainly can’t blindside what’s happening around the world. Still living under the illusion of celebrating success and cheering to good times while so much suffering is taking place around is not an option you should choose. This whole year passed by, spent looking mostly within ourselves. Nature provided the opportunity to sense what is sensible; some turned in to lifting the vibrations of the surroundings to heal the world, bring peace, and empower solidarity by spiritual practices, while others took charge of resolving complications of real matters. The pandemic brought everything strictly under control, but, quite yet, there was a rage breaking through, uncontrollably – more fear and uncertainty that the current circumstances brought upon this earth. Fingers were tangling and knotting threads of emotions, while the internal poet in the heart of an artist rose, trying to seed life into the soil of future, present, and past, which was sustained over and over, throughout.

A CRY OF A DREAMER – Link (https://allpoetry.com/The-Cry-of-the-Dreamer)

THE TWILIGHT TRAIL OF HOPE

We’re sewing through unspoken memories and adornments of beautiful moments. Wandering between the good and not-so-good that life had to teach, the transition from dreams to reality was taking place when the year is ending differently than it started with; we have lived and learned so strongly this year. The beginning of the year gave the feeling of falling asleep and waking up to something never seen rising from the horizon. There was a brighter hope of a better sunrise which got blighted by the rays of unknown shades of darkness and fear; the wind of nature rushing through the veins was not of a fresh breath of air. Mornings were turning into mirages and the never-ending labyrinth of passages turning into tracks of maze runners looking for what no one knew. The facing of the unknown, not even mastered the theory of nature or a predictable forecast of what weather had to bring upon human life. Life carried on, however; one could either balance survival or the pleasure of luxuries and materialistic things possessed.

Another year will pass by and another New Year’s Eve will turn into popping champagnes, with supposed resolutions solidifying in these times of vast confusion. Nothing is clear really, yet the prayers and wishes might bring better and greater days ahead, just like mankind, always making their own well-suited and booted monkey race, the most empowered and superficial form of being the best and sovereign over all the other elements of earthly living, breathing life. Sitting in a quaint pocket of the modern city, reinstalling packed and stored X-Mas trees at one corner, putting up the decorations and cherry lights to feel the snowfall, sprinkling sweet sugar on deliciously home-baked pumpkin pies, with the nostalgic memories of Xmas jingles and Santa’s surprises bringing hopes and happiness for turning new pages and closing the calendars of the life lived to pack up the past. Counting blessings, counting the good times that filtered us out of the darkest struggles of chaotic consumptions, challenging one’s own strength of tolerance, and battle to existing identities. Going far, far away from social civilisation, yet endorsing the display of this dramatic daydreaming dissidents. What part is to be played in the current transition, which path is to be chosen to lead. Where to stand among these largely branched out revolutionary movements, perhaps just going on to become the cult that shall keep on creating something good, something beautiful in the midst of so much going on around. This enormous twilight of waking up from dreams of the inner life to lead or follow the rampage of outer life is something swirling in the air of the last month of season’s greetings.

Cheers to all the dreamers, creators, motivators, healers, and to the leaders and legends whose work and accomplishments will be studded on the page of this historical time the world has witnessed. And may all the writers and storytellers get a gift of the golden quill to create more magic to give added hopes and dreams that illuminates mornings and kisses away the dark needles of pine. All of this, so that no one endures the misery of early kidnapping by death, leaving splits and broken lines on porcelain plates of the regression. Prayers go to the souls which left without attainable peace, and gratitude goes to all the gardeners and homemakers arranging beauty in the backyard and making the landscape so blissful and nurtured to breathe the happiness that hopes bring.